Play the Game
by tbazzsnow
Summary: Simon and Baz are unexpectedly snowed in. They find plenty of activities to occupy their time. Post canon setting. This is a gift fic for the incomparable vkelleyart who has visually captured with her art the Baz and Simon I see in my e fic is a thank you to her and a nod to her love of board games and these two adorable boys. Many thanks to BasicBathsheba for her beta work!


**Play the Game**

"_Play the game  
Everybody play the game of love" Queen  
_

* * *

**Baz**

I wake up to an empty bed and the smell of bacon and baking.

Simon's always been an early riser but most days he's content to stay close and keep me warm. Or whatever we're calling it at the moment.

I get up and twitch aside the curtains to see snow still falling.

It started snowing last night, soon after Bunce left, and it hasn't shown any sign of stopping. It seems we aren't headed to see my family today after all.

I wander into the kitchen and am met by the glorious sight of a barefoot, pyjama-clad Simon Snow making breakfast. I lean against the doorway and drink in the sight of him. He's humming to himself, not quite in tune with the music drifting through the kitchen from the tinny speaker on the counter, his bronze curls disheveled and springing up in every direction (I love his hair long) (he lets it grow out now because he knows I like it.)

"Good morning, love." I move to the stove, where he's frying the bacon and slide my arms around his waist.

He startles and waves a fork in the air. "Merlin, Baz, your hands are cold!" But he puts a hand on mine and rubs my knuckles.

"That's what you get for leaving me in that chilly bed by myself, you nightmare."

"I was making you breakfast in bed, you twat. Spoiled the whole thing, you have."

I bury my face in his neck, ghosting my breath along the moles there. There's a trail of them that I follow all the way to that spot behind his ear. He shivers when I reach it.

"Penny's right. You're such a distraction when I'm cooking."

"I'm wounded. Just when you're cooking? I need to up my game it seems." My lips trail kisses down his neck until I reach his collarbone.

His head falls back, exposing more of that expanse of tawny, freckled skin. He sighs and then exhales a huff of air. "Baz, I'm going to burn our breakfast."

"That would be a tragedy of epic proportions as it's too snowy to get to the shops." I press a single kiss to his cheek and then move away to stand next to him, leaning against the counter.

I'll be damned if I'm going to prove Bunce right and allow Simon to have another grease fire incident. I am not a distraction. Simon is just eminently distractible when I'm near.

Which is perfectly fine with me.

I call my father after we eat. He informs me that the roads around the lodge are near impassable with the amount of snow that has fallen overnight. "Stay where you are, Basilton. No use trying to brave the roadways. It will likely take all day to get them cleared." He pauses and then gives a small cough. "I'm sure you and Simon will find something to occupy your time." He clears his throat in a suspiciously amused fashion but successfully hangs up on me before I can even splutter out an appropriate response.

If there even is an appropriate response to that.

Simon lifts his head from where he is sprawled on the sofa to give me a curious look. "Alright, then?"

"Fine."

"Come here."

"What?"

"You're fuming about something. Trust me, I'm familiar with that look." Simon waves his hand at me. "Come on. Get over here."

"I'm not fuming." But I go to him. Because I'm weak, what can I say? I sit by his feet, at the far end of the sofa and cross my arms.

He kicks me in the leg. "What then?"

"We're not going to visit today."

Simon snorts. "I'd gathered that, you great git. You wouldn't take the Jag out in this." He kicks me again. "What was that at the end? You're usually much more eloquent. You literally squawked. What did your father say?"

"Nothing." I can feel my face heating up. By the grin on Simon's face it's clear he's noticed it too.

"Come on, Baz! What did he say to get you all worked up?"

"I told you. Nothing of consequence." My face betrays me by flushing more. I can't help it. My father certainly was just poking fun but it's unexpected. It's thrown me off a bit.

More than a bit.

Father has become quite fond of Simon. Surprising development. He's also come to terms with the fact that Simon and I are a package deal. A welcome and unexpected development also.

But what is utterly mortifying and quite startling is the fact that my family has become quite blasé about it all.

About us sharing a room. Sharing a bed.

They've also made some assumptions, which is in all certainty Fiona's fault. She's in Prague most of the time, thankfully, but she returns with startling frequency and very little advance notice.

Which is probably why my parents presume Simon and I are sleeping together.

Which we are. Just not in the manner they assume.

It's complicated.

Intimacy issues. Trust issues. Vampire issues.

Complicated.

But nothing we can't handle. We're going at our own pace and it's something we are both comfortable with at this point.

This is just the first time my father has remarked on it so openly. He seemed quite pleased with himself actually.

Fiona is a terrible influence on anyone who comes into contact with her. I had thought my father was immune after all this time but it appears I've been proven wrong.

She makes suggestive comments constantly, to me and to Simon. I think she likes to shock him.

She's just trying to irritate me.

Simon is exceedingly, frustratingly stubborn and his pestering finally overcomes my better instincts and I tell him what my father said. I am gratified to see his face flush.

And then he starts to the laugh, the ridiculous muppet. Throws his head back and roars. I just drink in the sight of him.

He stops laughing and grins at me. "He's right. We're snowed in for the weekend and I can think of all kinds of things to keep us occupied." He waggles his eyebrows at me in that completely vexing yet adorable way he has.

My mouth goes dry at his words. I can think of a few things myself.

My heart begins to race, partly from arousal at the thoughts going through my head and partly from sheer alarm at those same thoughts. I've not thought this through adequately. Moments ago, being snowed in with Simon sounded like bliss but now my worries start rising to the surface.

We've not gone much past the groping stage at this point. Expert groping I'd say, after all these months, but groping just the same. I've been hesitant to go further and Simon has been as well.

But the long stretch of uninterrupted time this weekend is certainly going to put my resolve to maintain my decorum to the test. Damn this weather.

I'm pathetic really because the next words out of my mouth are a whispered question. "What kind of things?"

Simon leaps up from the sofa like an eager Labrador retriever and scurries to the bookshelf. This is not quite the response I expected. He kneels down by the bottom shelf.

Oh no. _Fuck_. I should have known. Of course, Simon isn't plotting an elaborate snowbound seduction.

There is a part of me that regrets the fact that no one is seducing a vampire today. A significant part of me.

He's plotting to torture me with Normal board games all day instead.

Crowley. I'm going to destroy him, just on principle, no doubt of that.

* * *

**Simon**

I can't say I mind being snowed in all weekend with Baz. This first term at uni has been so busy for him and it's been an adjustment for me. We've not had as much time together as we did at Watford, strangely enough. There we shared classes and a room; when I was stalking him, I saw him practically every hour of the day.

It was harder, when I didn't go back. I'd only see him on weekends and not every weekend at that. I'd almost gone mental when he'd gone missing first term; I missed him even more this past spring.

I missed his morning grumpiness, the muttered grumblings, the smell of his posh hair products, the interminably long showers he would take (although Pacey gives Baz a run for his money on long showers) (it drives Penny mental) (it's environmentally irresponsible, she says.)

I missed everything about him.

But what I missed the most was the soft sound of his breathing in the night. Knowing Baz was there and peaceful and just a touch away from me.

He used to call me, after he went back. Every night. To talk on the phone but also to let me just listen to him breathe. It calmed me to hear it. Most nights I'd drift off holding the phone to my ear.

Penny would slip it out of my hand once I'd fallen asleep. I didn't know until later that she'd talk to Baz then. Confirm that I'd fallen asleep to his voice, his breath. Let him know how I was doing, how things were going with the inquiry, what she was worrying about that particular night.

I only found out later. I'd wondered how they got to be chummy all of a sudden. Seemed odd since they'd rarely talked at Watford. Other than to debate the vowel shift of the 16th century or magickal drift in the colonies or some such intellectual rot.

Until eighth year at least.

Penny's gone this weekend. She managed to get out before the storm hit, to visit her mum at Watford.

So it's just me and Baz.

I wouldn't have minded staying in bed longer. I like waking up in Baz's arms. I like it even better when he wakes up in mine. To know he trusts me that much.

But I know sometimes mornings lead to more than just cuddling together in the warmth of my bed.

Sometimes he's good with it, taking the lead and making my skin spark with heat; an echo of how my magic used to course through me, searing, but this time no one gets burned.

Other times he hesitates and I can see the conflict in his eyes. His body wants more, more of me, more of this, but his brain is reining him in, throwing roadblocks up that have no place there.

That's when I slow down, stay soft, keep him in the moment and let him go as far as he is comfortable.

I could tell we weren't going out today, when I got up and looked out the window. Knew we'd be snowed in.

Staying in bed all day sounded just right.

But he'd done it again, last night. That hesitation, that drawing in, that moment where he let his thoughts completely take over.

So I'd slowed down. And it was good. For both of us I think.

I don't want to start the day with any pressure on him. Breakfast in bed was just an idea to do something different, with no expectations.

As if Baz would tolerate rolling around in a bed that had crumbs in it, anyway.

He had that look a moment ago. The one where his body is telling him one thing and his brain another.

So diversionary tactics were necessary. And I've been looking forward to a chance to have a day like this.

I pull out the stack of board games from the bottom of the bookshelf.

"Fancy a go at these?"

* * *

**Simon**

"Why do I keep landing on Knightsbridge?"

"It's simply a roll of the dice."

"Yes, but must my bloody dice keep sending me there?"

"You had a chance to buy it and you passed. This is how the game is played, Simon."

"It's bloody unfair, it is. Why'd you have to go and build all that there? You've got other properties. Build on those, why don't you?"

Baz sighs. "It's how the game is played."

"Well, not anymore it's not. I'm bloody well bankrupt." I toss the meagre bills I have left at him and watch as they flutter onto the table.

* * *

**Baz**

"I'm not doing it."

"You have to do it. You have to roll the dice."

"I'm not. You've got the whole bloody Continent, Africa, Asia and most of the Americas. All I've got is sodding Australia. And I'm about to lose that too."

"It's how the game is played, Simon. It's strategy. It's how you're supposed to win."

He narrows his eyes at me. "How are you so good at Normal games?"

I roll my eyes. "How are you not? Didn't you grow up playing these?" I'm puzzled now. "Isn't that why you've been picking them up at thrift shops for the last few months? Nostalgic reasons?"

His eyes drop down to the board and his leg jiggles the table. "No."

I don't say anything. I just keep my gaze on him. He's still looking down.

He flicks the die in his hand away. I wait.

"There's nothing to be nostalgic about. They had shit for games at the homes. The ones they did have, well, they were always missing pieces or had parts torn or someone's stupid graffiti all over the board."

My chest tightens. It makes me angry at the Mage all over again. And at myself, for never realizing, never asking.

It isn't enough that Simon didn't have any attention, any affection, any real care in those homes but he didn't even have the basic amenities of a childhood. It infuriates me.

My heart breaks to think that this is why he's been buying them, trying to conjure up something he never really had when it would have actually mattered.

I hadn't understood any of this. I'd been playing to win, like I always do, thinking Simon would be the expert.

I tap the board. "This is a flawed game anyway."

"What?" Simon looks up then, forehead creased. "What do you mean? You're annihilating me."

I wave my hand and sneer. "It's geographically inaccurate and historically incorrect."

He snorts at my words.

"Come on then, Simon. What else do you have?"

* * *

**Baz**

"B-seven."

"Hit. F-three."

"No. B-eight."

"Hit. A-four."

"Nothing. B-nine."

"Hit." I chew on my lip. Simon's much better than me at this game. There's a strategy to it but I've not figured it out yet. One more hit and he's going to sink this ship of mine. "D-five."

"Hit. B-six."

"Miss." I tap my fingers. "D-four."

"Miss. B-ten."

Well, fuck. There it goes. "You sunk my battleship."

"Wicked."

* * *

**Simon**

"R-A-T. 3 points."

"B-U-R-E-A-U-C added on to your 'RAT' and let me see? How many points is that? Fifteen plus your three and a double word score? Is that how I do it?"

Of fucking course it's a double word score. "I should have known better than to play a bloody word game with you, Baz."

* * *

**Baz**

"You're sure you don't want to watch a film?"

"No."

"Look, Simon, we've been playing board games all day. I've been sitting in this same spot since lunch. Let's at least move to the sofa so we can watch something. Maybe one of those Star whatever films you like so much."

"No."

I lean back in my chair and groan. There has not been near enough snogging today, which is how I had envisioned we'd spend our time. At least some of our time. Bloody more than we have, which is not at all.

Instead we've been at this since shortly after breakfast, with a lunch break that was under no circumstances long enough. I think we've played every game in that infernal stack he has and I've managed to beat him at almost all of them.

I haven't been trying to win. At least not after I found out he's as much of a novice at these as I am.

I'll admit it, I am competitive. It's a Pitch trait and I am most certainly a Pitch. But I wasn't actively trying to win today. Not like I used to with him.

It just happened.

It was partly Simon's fault for thinking squaring off against me in military strategy and word games could possibly end well.

He did manage to beat me at Battleship but that one is more luck than skill in my opinion.

He's got one last box in his hands and the expression on his face is one I know only too well. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's jutting his chin out in that stubborn way he has. That's the look I fell in love with, back at Watford.

I love it just as much now.

"Just one more game, Baz."

"Simon."

"Please?"

I couldn't say no if I tried. Not with that look and that word. I'm done for.

It's ends up being Twister, which is an utterly nonsensical game. There's no strategy or logic to it at all.

I narrow my eyes at the instructions. "You can't play with two people," I point out.

"Yes, you can."

"No, you can't. Someone's got to have a free hand for the spinny thing."

"Look at the back of the paper. If you only have two people there's a variation. One of us calls out a color for their turn and the other chooses the body part that goes on that color. It'll still work."

Simon has already moved the coffee table. I sigh dramatically and move to stand at one end of the garishly colored sheet he is setting out on the floor.

"Quit complaining. You've won almost everything we've played today. Give me a chance to best you at something."

"This is all luck, love. There's just as much of a chance I'll best you, you know."

"We'll see. And I think you're wrong about the strategy bit."

"Hmm."

I suggest taking our socks off, to prevent either of us slipping on the plastic. Simon pulls his shirt off as well.

He takes in my look. "It's hot. I'm bound to get sweaty if I'm exerting myself trying to balance while I'm twisted up in knots. You don't have to take yours off, unless you want to."

I most certainly don't want to. It's cold. I've got a jumper on over my t-shirt.

"We'll take turns then. I'll call out a color then you'll do a body part. Then we'll switch and you'll choose the color. I'll go first, shall I?"

"You realize we are going to get hopelessly confused?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as one of us picks a color and one of us a body part it won't make any difference. Now come on, Baz. Game on."

"How do you even win at this game?"

"Last man standing. Er, rather, basically if you fall or touch the mat with your elbow or knee, you lose."

"You're going to find a way to cheat."

"You're more likely to do that than I am."

"Doubtful."

"You're taller and have those damn reflexes of yours. I'm doomed but I'll not go down without a fight."

"Famous last words, Simon. Now pick a color and let's get on with it."

* * *

**Simon **

I'm in one corner of the mat, both feet on red and one hand on yellow and one on blue. Baz is in the other corner, nearly mirroring me.

This won't do at all. The whole point of saving this game for last was to get us closer. Baz may think there's no logic or strategy to this game but he's wrong.

I have a plan and a strategy. I've just got to figure out which things I need to call out to get him where I want him.

"Red."

"Right hand."

This is better. I can't count on Baz making it easy for me but this at least has me turning in his direction so now we're facing each other.

I've just got to get him to move where I want him.

* * *

**Baz**

This game is as ludicrous as I expected.

I'm sprawled out in the middle of this mat, hands spread eagled on yellow and red and my feet planted on blue and yellow, as if I'm doing the world's most colorful plank. Simon, the twat, is pressed against my back, hands one circle back from mine. I can feel the warm press of his chest. He's breathing through his mouth, as usual, and I can feel puffs of air on my neck.

He's resting his weight on me, nightmare that he is, and it's making me come dangerously close to the mat.

"Get off, Simon."

"Can't. Not my fault you went this direction first."

"It's cheating. You're not supposed to push me towards the mat, you wanker."

"Not pushing you. Just resting a bit." His lips brush the hair at the nape of my neck and I can't help the shiver that goes through me.

"Would you get on with it?"

"It's your turn."

"Fine. Green." I need to get out from under him and this is the only way I can think to do it. He's sure to choose right hand, it's the easiest for him too. It would give me at least a moment without the weight of him.

"Right foot." Blast him. So now I'm nearly diagonal on this stupid mat. And he's still laying on top of me. His lips brush my neck and my arm nearly buckles.

"Simon!"

"What?"

"Stop distracting me."

"Distracting you, eh? We'll see about that."

We go back and forth, colors and limbs and somehow, I manage to flip myself so I'm facing up and somewhat perpendicular to Simon.

That's better.

Until it's not.

Until he's spread-eagled over me, his blue eyes laughing down into mine. I can't hold myself up, my arms are at an awkward angle and my quads are seizing up from the positioning. Our bodies are touching, me trying to stay up off the mat and Simon pressing down on top of me.

It's hot. When did it get so bloody hot in here? I can feel the heat of Simon through this stupid jumper.

* * *

**Simon**

He's not giving up. That's my Baz. I've got him cornered, got him under me with no place to go and he's still being stubborn.

I'm holding most of my weight on my arms but I've got my chest pressed to his. The whole length of me is hovering just over him. Our faces are so close I wouldn't even need to dip my head to catch his lips with mine.

I'm going to win this one.

I brush my lips against his, drowning Baz's protests as I deepen the kiss and feel his mouth opening against mine. I inch my hands closer together, keeping them on the right color circles but closing the space between us even further. Baz sinks a little closer to the floor, even as his lips chase mine, eyes closing.

I can feel the trembling begin in his left arm, as the awkward positioning starts to take its toll. I press closer, rolling my hips against him now.

And that's all it takes. His left leg wobbles out from under me and his right elbow dips to keep him balanced.

It doesn't work and Baz lands on the mat, eyes flying open and mouth pulling away from mine. "You cheated!"

"I won." I drop down on top of him, hands sinking into his hair and my lips tracing up his jawline.

"You still cheated," Baz breathes, but there's no malice in it, his tone just as soft as the touch of his lips reaching up to kiss that mole on my cheek that inexplicably fascinates him.

"I'm thinking you don't mind losing this game so much."

Baz's mouth moves against mine as he murmurs "I'm not complaining."


End file.
